


A Night of Quiet Splendor

by RileyC



Category: DCU, World's Finest (Comics)
Genre: Flying Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-21
Updated: 2011-07-21
Packaged: 2017-10-21 15:21:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RileyC/pseuds/RileyC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark wants to have life-affirming sex after Bruce has a close call; Bruce needs some convincing, however.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night of Quiet Splendor

**Author's Note:**

> Written for World's Finest 5th birthday prompt by mithen: Sex/making out while flying.
> 
> NOTE: Somewhat inspired by her scans of WORLD’S FINEST #285, “Deliver Us From Evil,” [found here](http://mithen.livejournal.com/72686.html), where Batman doesn’t appear to have any problem with Superman providing the transportation. The title is taken from the text.

_Well this was ignominious._

Of all the ways Bruce had envisioned dying, plummeting to his death because the Gotham gargoyle he’d chosen to perch on tonight had wrenched away from the building, pummeling him in a shower of bruising chunks of masonry as it all crashed toward the ground, no time to shoot out a grapple line, hadn’t even cracked the top twenty list.

His right arm was numb from the elbow down from a lump of stone smacking him. A small piece bounced off his head, blurring his vision for a moment. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear it, worried about the damage all this falling masonry was going to do to anyone in the street below – not to mention the impact his body, at this velocity, was going to make. It didn’t strike him as odd that, even now, in his last moments, his first thought was for his city and its people.

He blinked again, realizing most of the blurriness was purely external: a wash of blue-and-red streaking down from the night sky, laser beams shooting out to vaporize every piece of falling stone before the figure zoomed toward him, plucking him out of the air and cradling him in powerful arms.

Bruce needed a moment to catch his breath before asking, “So what kept you?”

Clark bestowed a crooked grin on him, soaring at a more leisurely pace back into the sky. “Had to make an emergency kitten stop.”

Bruce would have punched him if his hand wasn’t already numb.

“You can put me down anytime.”

“I’m good,” Clark said, still smiling.

Something told Bruce this didn’t bode well, so he played his trump card. “I probably need medical attention.”

“No, nothing’s broken,” Clark said with the confidence of someone who had x-ray vision at his beck and call.

Bruce’s glower bounced off him, making no more of a dent than a high caliber bullet.

He tried one more time as they drifted high above the city, Gotham looking almost jewel-like in the night, albeit one with many flaws and imperfections. “I might have a concussion.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

And, damn it, the feeling was even creeping back into his arm. “We are not doing this, Clark.”

“Oh, I think we are, Bruce.”

“We are not,” Bruce repeated, putting all the authority he could muster into his voice, “doing this with you carrying me like you’re about to cart me over the threshold.”

“Well if that’s all…” His hold on Bruce never slipping for even the briefest instant, Clark maneuvered them so that they were face to face, Bruce resting his hands on the broad shoulders. “Better?”

“I’m not standing on your feet, either,” Bruce said, shifting some more, long past being thrown by the sensation of looking down and seeing only air beneath his feet.

When he looked up again, all the teasing laughter had gone from Clark’s eyes, fear clouding the sunlit blue.

“Clark—“

“What if I hadn’t been here? What if I’d been off on a mission for the League, Bruce?”

The questions were rhetorical; they both knew that. It didn’t help a lot.

He slid his hands along Clark’s shoulders, cradling the back of his head. “You said you could handle it.”

Clark ducked his head a little, shrugged. “I lied.”

Bruce smiled, leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth, whispered, “I know.” Threading his fingers through Clark’s hair, Bruce kept him still so he could plant soft, cherishing kisses all along the beloved face and watching the sunlight come back into those eyes.

Clark carefully tightened his hold, their capes swirling around them. “You know what?” he murmured, nuzzling Bruce’s jaw. “We’ve never had sex like this.”

Bruce’s eyebrows shot up behind the cowl. “I … can’t believe you just suggested that.” Honestly, the disconnect between the official, public image of Superman, and the delectably, sumptuously sexy man who had come to share his bed never ceased to floor him.

Clark flashed him a brilliant smile. “Double dog dare you.”

He couldn’t help it, he had to laugh – at the absurdity, at the sheer exhilaration of being alive and shamelessly propositioned by the Man of Steel.

Kissing him in mid-laugh, Clark bit softly at Bruce’s lower lip, catching it between his own, tongue darting against it, wanting more. Willingly conquered, Bruce mouth opened his mouth, arousal stirring through him as Clark deepened the kiss, clever tongue nimble and hungry for Bruce. He pressed closer to Clark, nothing between their bodies but fabric, and that was suddenly an unbearable barrier, Bruce decided, tugging Clark’s shirt up, wanting to strip off his gauntlets so he could feel that smooth skin, silk over steel. Clark groaned, rolling them, clearly not having a problem with the feel of leather caressing his skin.

This – having sex in mid-air – had made the list of ways he might die, purely on speculation. Now, stretched out atop Clark and floating in the clouds, he could only suppose there were vastly worse ways to go.

“So,” Bruce shifted slightly, wobbling, grabbing and holding on tight to Clark’s hips, “how does this work?”

Looking up at him with an incongruously bashful expression, Clark said, “I thought you might have some ideas.”

Elbows propped on the broad chest, Bruce returned an incredulous look that he felt certain was strong enough to transcend his cowl. “You mean you’ve never done anything like this before?”

“I kind of thought that was covered in the whole me admitting I was a virgin before you came along thing.”

Bruce lowered his head, resisting the urge to bang it on Clark’s chest. “Why do I have this feeling you’ve got this list of debauchery that you’re slowly working through with me?”

Making an offended hmphy sound, Clark said, “I don’t have a list of debauchery. It’s just, I don’t know, I thought it would be fun. The closest I could get to showing you how it feels when I fly, Bruce.”

Bruce looked up at that, finding himself unaccountably touched – and a little ashamed that he’d just been thinking Clark was a Kryptonian horndog.

“I’m sure it would be amazing, Clark, but it might be a good idea to get in some practice first.”

Looking hopeful again, Clark said, “Somewhere with a big, soft mattress for you to fall on?”

“That would be good, yes.”

“So…? No sex now?”

Smiling at the buoyant, ever optimistic tone, Bruce lowered his head for a lingering kiss. “Where are we?” They had drifted some ways from Gotham, but he’d lost track of exactly in which direction.

“Right over Wayne Manor.” Clark turned, looking downward. “Alfred’s making cocoa.”

“No cookies?” Bruce asked as they began drifting downward.

Clark checked again. “Looks like banana nut bread. Hey, I bet he used Ma’s recipe!”

Tugging Clark’s shirt back down and smoothing it into place, Bruce said, “What’s in it?”

Clark gave him a skeptical look. “Bananas. And nuts. It’s a Midwestern delicacy.”

Bruce smirked. “Well I am partial to Midwestern, by way of Krypton, delicacies,” he said.

Clark stared at him, blinked, blushed. That he could do that, after just trying to get Bruce to have sex with him while airborne, was just another reason Bruce loved him.

Their feet touched down on the lawn without so much as a bump.

“Nice landing.”

“I would never let you fall,” Clark said, reaching up to push back the cowl, drinking in the sight of him as if Bruce had never looked better, sweaty hair sticking up and all.

Solemn now, Bruce nodded, turning into the touch as Clark cupped a hand along his face. “I know you won’t,” he said, meeting him halfway as Clark angled in for another kiss.

~*~

 _later that night…_

“Clark?”

“Mmm?”

“Clark,” his orgasm still trembling through him, evidence of Clark’s warm and damp against his belly, Bruce brushed his fingers through Clark’s hair, pushing it back out of his eyes. “Clark,” his voice was soft, still breathless, “snap out of it.”

Blinking slowly, Clark looked up at him, taking a few moments to process that Bruce was smooshed up against the ceiling. His brows drew together in a perplexed frown. “Oh. Sorry,” he said, floating them back down to the bed.

Landing with a grateful, “Oof,” Bruce sprawled out beside Clark. “That was…”

“Mmm hmm.” Clark sighed, stretching against him. “It really was.”

“We have _got_ to perfect that.”

Clark beamed at him. “Just think what it will be like outside, nothing around us but clouds.”

“Oh,” Bruce put his mouth to the hollow of Clark’s throat, licking, tasting salt, tasting Clark, “believe me, I’m thinking about it.”

Hands buried in Bruce’s hair, Clark arched into his touch. “Gravity’s overrated?”

“Gravity,” Bruce raised his head, hands braced against Clark’s chest as they hovered over the bed once more, “is most definitely overrated,” he agreed, going willingly as Clark pulled him in for another kiss.

Clark rolled them, reversing their positions, letting Bruce drift gently downward. “Trust me?” Clark asked, fingers curled around Bruce’s, keeping him safe with just that.

“Always,” Bruce told him, falling for the second time that night and not feeling the slightest twinge of fear.


End file.
